svetikya Page 10
Page 10
A left hook grazed his temple, causing a moment of dizziness, but it also allowed him to spot an opening on Reggie's right side.
Victor threw a powerful right hook.
This punch had no technique whatsoever; it was purely a result of body weight and instinctive outburst.
But miraculously, the fist grazed Reggie's ear, making a crisp "pia" sound.
A gasp of surprise erupted from the audience, and even the referee raised an eyebrow.
Reggie's expression froze instantly.
He took a half step back, touched his reddened ear in disbelief, and flashed with fury in his eyes.
"You're in luck, Fatty!"
He said through gritted teeth that the offensive suddenly became even more ferocious.
The ensuing combination of punches forced Victor into a deep retreat.
A blow to the liver nearly made him vomit, followed by an uppercut that made his vision spin.
Reggie was like an enraged bull, each punch carrying a clear killing intent.
Viktor was cornered, the ropes digging deep into his back.
"Hold on! Don't give up!"
Old Jack's voice seemed to come from a great distance, "Wait until he's tired... wait until he's tired..."
Viktor felt a lot of pain all over his body, but everything was normal. Compared to having to swing the hammer, everything was really good!
At one point, he noticed that Reggie's breathing became heavy and his punches slowed down by half a beat.
This discovery was like an adrenaline injection into his veins.
As Reggie swung his right fist again, Victor used his last bit of strength to duck and dodge, simultaneously putting all his weight on a left hook—
The second round is over.
Victor said to old Jack, "Just a little bit more!"
Old Jack roared, "That's enough! Defend properly, don't let him hit your chin or head! You can handle it!"
One minute after the bell rang to start the third round, Victor's legs felt like lead—his weight of 380 pounds was indeed enormous.
He leaned against the corner of the boxing ring, panting heavily, sweat running down his brow bone and into his eyes, causing a stinging sensation.
Through his blurry vision, he saw Reggie bouncing effortlessly across from him, his sharp, professional boxer eyes fixed on him like a cheetah eyeing a wounded antelope.
"Hold on, Viktor!"
Old Jack shouted from below the stage, his voice almost drowned out by the surrounding noise: "He's slowing down! Did you see that? He's slowing down!"
Viktor rubbed his eyes with his boxing gloves and then noticed that Reggie's footwork was indeed not as agile as in the first two rounds.
The right straight punch that nearly knocked him down in the second round is now noticeably slower.
Victor's tactics worked—he took the heavy punches head-on, wearing down Reggie's stamina.
"Yellow-skinned pig, you're more resilient than I thought."
Reggie whispered as the two drew near, a smug smile playing on his lips, the kind of disdain a professional player might have for an amateur: “But I will finish the match.”
Viktor did not answer.
His skin ached from Reggie's relentless blows in the second round.
Laughter erupted from the surrounding audience.
"Look at that guy who's just going to his death!"
"Reggie, get rid of this piece of trash!"
"I bet he won't last this round!"
Viktor closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He was all too familiar with those voices—in Viktor's memory, it was always this kind of mockery from childhood to adulthood. America was free, and people were free to laugh at anyone!
From the day he decided to challenge a professional boxer, Viktor knew that the doubts and ridicule would never stop.
Reggie launched a fierce attack just as Victor had predicted, but those originally deadly combinations now had a predictable rhythm.
Victor shielded his head with his arms and leaned forward slightly, allowing Reggie's fists to land mostly on his shoulders and arms.
With each blow, his muscles tingled and went numb, but he gritted his teeth and waited for his chance.
"What is this kid doing?"
Foucault's surprised voice rang in old Jack's ears, "He's catching Reggie's punches like a punching bag!"
Old Jack looked at Foucault: "Old man, you're very lucky. This is a genius, a fighter who can enter the heavyweight division."
Foucault dismissed it: "Is it his fat body or his shoddy technique?"
"Skills can be trained; he learns very quickly, in just six months to a year."
Old Jack pointed at Viktor's body: "His physical condition allows him to unleash tremendous power with only simple techniques! Foucault, don't hesitate!"
Foucault hesitated: "I only have the money of a professional boxer."
Old Jack shrugged: "Even if Lei Ji can perform well in light weight, he'll only be around 15th to 30th place. That would only earn you about $20,000 a year, which is considered a decent middle-class income. But a heavyweight boxer, even if he's only around 300th, can bring you at least $50,000."
Foucault scoffed: "Twenty thousand dollars is attainable, but fifty thousand dollars is out of reach."
Old Jack didn't utter a word.
Victor knew what he was doing.
He was counting—Reggie's breathing time after each combination of punches was half a second longer than before.
That half-second could be his chance.
As Reggie charged forward again, Victor suddenly lowered his center of gravity and protected his head with both hands.
The movement caused Reggie's jab to glide past his hair.
Then, Viktor charged forward with all his might, like a bull cornered in a desperate situation, while simultaneously throwing an uppercut from an extremely low angle.
"Pull in! Pull in!"
Old Jack shouted from the sidelines.
This is a move Tyson often used, a close-range attack—Victor could barely manage it.
At that moment, the fist, filled with anger and determination, sliced through the air with a 'whoosh' sound.
Reggie's eyes widened.
His professional boxer instincts kicked in, and he leaned back quickly, but the uppercut still grazed his chin.
Viktor heard a soft 'snap' and knew that he had at least hit his target.
Reggie was forced to step back until his back hit the ropes.
Foucault roared, "Stop!"
Old Jack echoed the same sentiment: "Stop!"
But Viktor did not stop.
He pressed on relentlessly, delivering two powerful hooks like hammer blows to Reggie's ribs.
When the first punch landed, he felt Reggie's muscles tense up instantly;
The second punch was deeper and heavier, striking directly at that soft area that lacked muscle protection.
Reggie let out a painful groan, his face turning deathly pale instantly.
Professional boxers rarely make a sound during a match, so this cry of pain was enough to show that Viktor had hit a nerve.
The laughter from the audience stopped abruptly, replaced by gasps of surprise.
Victor could hear old Jack shouting frantically, "Sdorp! Dorp!"
Foucault was the same.
Viktor looked at them hesitantly.
But the experience of a professional boxer becomes apparent at this moment.
Reggie didn't panic. Instead, he quickly sidestepped and dodged Victor's follow-up attack with a beautiful dodge, while simultaneously countering with a fierce right hook that struck Victor squarely in the chin.
The world exploded in a white light before Viktor's eyes.
He staggered backward, his ears ringing, barely able to hear the referee's countdown.
Chapter 9 Green Forest Bar
He vaguely saw that Reggie didn't pursue, but instead leaned against the ropes to catch his breath—the two blows to the ribs had clearly caused injury.
Old Jack rushed onto the field and helped Victor struggle to his feet. Just then, the referee raised Reggie's hand to announce the victory, and the audience erupted in cheers.
But soon, the cheers turned into another sound—applause, enthusiastic and long-lasting applause.
Viktor struggled to lift his head and saw that the entire audience had stood up, including those who had mocked him earlier.
"Viktor! Viktor! Viktor!"
People started calling his name.
Reggie walked over with a gloomy expression. After thinking it over, he realized that Reggie was the face of the party, the person in charge, and the current core. To get closer to the core and gain the greatest benefit, Viktor took the initiative to extend his hand.
“That was a great hit, Reggie. Your speed is incredible, I can’t keep up at all. That right hook almost knocked me out.”
Reggie was taken aback, clearly not expecting such a reaction.
He hesitated for a moment, then grasped Viktor's hand. The mockery turned into mutual praise: "You...you're not so bad, for a beginner."
He rubbed his still-aching ribs, "Especially those last few blows, they were quite heavy."
But the praise wasn't over yet.
Viktor continued to flatter him: "Honestly, I'm honored to have fought three rounds with a professional like you. Your footwork is like dancing; I can't even guess your rhythm."
Reggie's expression gradually softened, even revealing a hint of smugness: "Hey, at least you know how to take a beating. Most newbies are down in the first round."